Iniquity
by Jessa4865
Summary: Olivia and Elliot witness something they shouldn't... EO COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Iniquity

Iniquity

Jezyk

Spoilers: Nothing in particular.

Disclaimer: Come sue me. I dare you.

Part One

After six days and nights of meals consisting of coffee and whatever they could scrounge up out of the vending machine in the hallway, Elliot reasoned that they deserved a decent dinner served to them on plates they didn't have to wash. Olivia didn't bother to argue because she hadn't gotten to wash the plates from the last meal she'd had and, after the six intervening days, she feared that either the food was so thoroughly attached that she'd never get them clean or, worse yet, the mouse she suspected lived in her apartment when she wasn't there, which was most of the time, had already done her the service of removing the food remnants.

Either way, she'd be relying on food from alternate sources until she could replace all of her dishes.

It was surprising to find a sizable line at the restaurant. With the ridiculous hours they kept, there were rarely any other patrons in the seedy establishments still serving food when they got around to eating. Except that it was only a few minutes after seven in the evening and it was a Saturday, so half of Manhattan was out for dinner, a good portion of which was in line in front of them. Olivia pulled her jacket tighter around her, wishing she'd followed Elliot's lead and stayed in her work clothes. But she'd wanted to change, to put on an old pair of jeans and a comfortable sweater. The well-dressed date-goers around her, decked out in their finest visual pheromones, made her feel terribly insecure. Elliot's clothes might have been wrinkled, but there were no holes in his pants, at least not to her knowledge, which was something she couldn't say about her own air conditioned pants, ones that she'd owned since college.

Being the partner that he was and thus rather adept at mind reading, El turned to her with a smile, lowering his voice to a whisper and leaning down to drop it in her ear. "Relax. You still look better than any of them."

Thankful for the low lighting that hid her blush, she smiled and tried to brush him off. He had no idea what his flirtatious comments did to her, simply because, she was well aware, that he honestly didn't mean anything by them. He was just trying to make her feel better, to take her mind off her outfit. And it worked, like always, because she was busy trying to not respond in an inappropriately flirtatious manner as that would be infinitely more embarrassing than being underdressed.

Another couple pushed by them, stopping by the maitre d' to put their name on the waiting list before heading off to the bar to wait.

Olivia turned to her partner, rolling her eyes in a show of disinterest. "Ok, Mr. Smooth, how about you put our names in before anyone else gets in front of us?"

Suitably chastised, Elliot obeyed her command, leaving Olivia to find an unoccupied patch of wall on which to lean. Elliot was much better at those things, his bulky muscles and brooding glare could send people scurrying much faster than her own narrow frame, but she managed to find a spot anyway, along the archway leading into the bar.

If there was one thing Olivia loved to do off-duty, it was people watching. She loved observing people's interactions with each other. She loved imagining interesting stories behind the relationships she fabricated. And studying people was much more entertaining when she wasn't working, when she didn't have to look for evil and twisted behaviors, when she could make believe some wonderful love affair was unfolding. Her eyes fell on the couple who had brushed past them moments earlier. The woman had taken the seat at the edge of the bar, the only spot available. Her date stood at her elbow, just to her left. He was an average, decent looking man, thick brown hair, a wide, friendly smile. He was smart, Olivia decided, based on his wire-rimmed glasses. His suit was expensive, his shoes freshly polished, and, although she had nothing on which to base her assessment, Olivia firmly believed he smelled great, due to some obnoxiously expensive cologne his ex-wife had given him for his last birthday. He was a doctor, his patient, attentive stare on his date's face, wealthy, intelligent, irresistible to any woman on whom he directed his attention. And, based once again on nothing at all, Olivia simply knew his name was something as offensively well-bred as he was himself, something like Chase or Finley. While he might be most women's dream, Olivia predicted she'd possibly make it to the appetizer with him before she ran for the door.

Her eyes turned on the woman just as Elliot returned to her side. While he announced it would be about a half hour, she took in the multitude of shades making up the blonde hair, what stylists promised would make it look natural, while in reality announcing to everyone that the woman wasn't a natural blonde. Before she got any further, the woman shifted in her seat, turning her body to face her knight, a familiar profile stopping Olivia's thoughts in their tracks.

With her heart pounding in her throat, Olivia glanced at Elliot, who'd forced his way beside her, sending another couple scampering. His eyes were on her, however, mercifully not anywhere else. He smiled, a rare, unguarded light in his eyes, one that Olivia only witnessed when they got a good result, like they had that night, watching a poor, mistreated child find a loving home with his grandmother.

He nodded toward the bar, moving forward as though he already anticipated her agreement. "You want a drink?"

Her eyes went wide as she turned, grabbing his arm in an unprecedented display of neediness. "I think there's room on the bench over there." She saw nothing of the sort, but everything inside her said she needed to get Elliot as far away from his wife as she could, at least until she could figure out what Kathy was doing with that man.

Elliot ground to a halt half a second later, letting her hand on his arm force her to stop as well. "You mean that overcrowded bench right there?"

Seeing no other choice she shrugged. "I guess I was wrong."

His concern was obvious in the way his lips drew into a thin line while his brow furrowed. "Are you ok?"

Realizing how absurd her behavior must seem to him, especially since she belatedly noticed she was still gripping his arm, Olivia tried to find a way out that didn't involve telling the truth. "You know, I'm really not feeling so good anymore. Maybe I should just go home."

Elliot's eyes searched her face, his concern melting into something more closely resembling distrust. "What's going on?" He turned around, his narrowed eyes sifting through the crowd. "There an ex around here I need to beat up?"

She couldn't hide the grin that formed, although he rarely behaved like a jealous boyfriend, it never failed to give her a vicarious thrill. Not one that she would admit to, however. She shook her head. "No. I just-" She didn't actually have anything to say and her stomach chose that moment to growl, letting everyone around them know she was quite hungry.

"It won't be that long. I'm starving." He smiled, daring her to dispute her own feelings. "Even if you're not."

A group of six was called to their table, freeing up a considerable amount of space on the bench. Olivia collapsed happily onto it, glad to have the lure of the bar bypassed for the moment. Elliot sat beside her, getting closer and closer by the second as more people forced their way into the small seat. The side of his body was pressed fully against hers, his arm draped across her shoulders for lack of other places to put it. Luckily she detached herself from the moment, finding something to focus on besides the contact that she knew she shouldn't enjoy, let alone cherish.

But really, ten yards away from his wife, who by all appearances was cheating on him, it was hardly the time to be harboring such feelings for the man. She concentrated her thoughts on Kathy and her friend, trying to conjure up their images in her mind's eye, dissecting the interaction she had seen. Certainly she was predisposed to assuming a romantic relationship between them, she'd decided everyone in the place was on a date the second they'd walked in, but she recognized that was simply because she was not and the idea made her uncomfortable. More accurately, the idea made her jealous. Because she rarely found time to date and when she did, the men she dated were either assholes or wusses or rapist wannabees. All the decent ones were taken, like Elliot.

The thought bothered her because it could well be that a decent, loyal man like Elliot was married to a cheating bitch. But she decided that wasn't, couldn't be, the case. It was Elliot, after all. No one in their right mind would cheat on him. Olivia couldn't see the point in cheating on her partner, not when she considered him to be one of the few, truly honorable men out there. Kathy couldn't possibly expect to find a better man than she already had. Which made it particularly rotten to cheat on him.

But the more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Kathy was out on a date. She was one of the few women, besides Olivia, who wasn't in a skirt. And Kathy had really never seemed the type. She'd always struck Olivia as a sweet, faithful, suburban housewife, which until seeing her with another man, Olivia had considered an insult of sorts. So Kathy was probably going out to dinner with a colleague, which Olivia could hardly say anything about, since she herself was having a platonic dinner with a gorgeous man.

Still, she knew better than to mention such a thing to Elliot. Because honorable and decent as he was, Elliot was more likely than not to jump to the same conclusion as Olivia had originally and pound the man to pieces before he even asked if it was a date.

"You're really quiet, Liv."

She wasn't prepared for his voice to be so close and felt stupid for jumping at the sound. The crunch of bodies on the bench had resulted in Elliot pushing even closer to her while she was preoccupied. Normally, she would have simply shrugged at his comment to avoid explaining where her mind had been, but she saw the subject of her thoughts responding to the hostess for their seats and she felt compelled to distract him. She dared to throw a glance at him, even though he was far too close to her to chance eye contact. "I'm just tired. Aren't you?"

He nodded, a movement she actually felt in the cramped space. "Yeah, but I can't sleep if I'm starving." The hostess paged them and Elliot jumped to his feet so fast Olivia almost fell on the floor. "Finally."

Olivia followed him wordlessly, her mind dwelling on two possibilities. The first was that Stabler was hardly a common name, and would most certainly get the attention of a woman who bore the same name. And secondly, there was always the chance that they were about to be seated next to Kathy and her dream date.

Elliot stopped walking as he reached the podium, causing a stab of fear to course through her. But Elliot hadn't seen anything, he was simply waiting for her, allowing her to go ahead of him, as all men with manners would. With another reason to hate anyone who would consider cheating on her partner, Olivia followed the woman to an empty table, intensely pleased that she hadn't spotted Kathy. She was looking for the other woman and hadn't seen her, therefore, Elliot, who wasn't looking, probably hadn't seen her either.

Their table was small and dimly-lit, located against the back wall. Under any other circumstances, it would have seemed extremely romantic. A waiter appeared, rattling off a list of specials and wine suggestions, while Olivia scanned the room. She tried to appear nonchalant as she searched for Kathy. But the other woman was nowhere to be seen and Olivia knew that meant wherever she was, she had to be in Elliot's line of sight.

Overcome with anxiety, Olivia had no idea how she'd be able to stomach eating a huge Italian meal. Her stomach was in knots, allowing no room for food, except that Elliot would definitely notice if her appetite suddenly disappeared and he'd call her on it, likely eventually wheedling the truth out of her. It was something she needed to avoid at all costs because as bad as it would be for Elliot to discover that his wife was cheating on him, provided that was indeed the case, it would be indescribably worse for him to learn of it from Olivia. And somehow she knew she would wind up seeming guilty of something if she was the one to tell him.

So Olivia forced herself to pay attention to her own dinner companion rather than searching out someone else's. She nodded her agreement when Elliot suggested wine, more than happy to knock back a few glasses to take the edge off her nerves. Despite the disconcert she felt, she munched on the bread in the basket, feeling her hunger reawaken in the presence of food. Elliot was slightly outpacing her with the wine, ordering a second bottle without hesitating.

By the time the food came, Olivia's anxiety was toned down considerably. It was much easier to focus on the man before her, transformed by alcohol into a loquacious flirt. Although, she was perfectly aware of the fact that alcohol had the same effect on her, allowing her to giggle and blush at his comments. But it was familiar ground for them, something they did rarely, something they could trust each other with. They would never act on it, Olivia knew, and that made it ok. It made it safer than with anyone else. And there was no reason that Olivia would ever have to tell him how much she cherished having his attention on her like that.

His attention was tunneled on her, so much so that she nearly forgot there was anything amiss. Until she noticed him squinting at something behind her. Finally he shook his head and looked at her sheepishly. "I keep thinking I see Kathy."

For a moment, time stood still. She didn't know what to do. She felt guilty keeping the truth to herself. She could hear the guilt Elliot felt for his behavior in the way he said his wife's name. But Olivia had no idea how to respond. She didn't think she could bear to tell him that he was right and she didn't think she could bear to keep the secret. Swallowing hard, she turned, figuring that seemed like the appropriate response, and followed the path to where he'd been looking.

Just at that moment, Kathy turned in her seat, reaching for the napkin that had fallen from her lap.

"Son of a bitch!" Elliot was pushing back his chair, about to jump to his feet.

Olivia could only imagine the damage a drunken, irate Elliot could inflict on a civilian. She was on her feet before she even thought about it, blocking his path, grabbing his arms to get his attention back on her. "Elliot, calm down."

His eyes focused on her, hard and cold and full of hate as he hissed at her. "My wife is here on a date with a man."

Moving her hands to his chest, Olivia held his gaze despite wanting to look away from the anger there. "And it would probably appear very much to her that you're here on a date with a woman."

Elliot stared at her, his face fading first to confusion, then blankness. He glanced over her shoulder, but his eyes quickly returned to hers. "But-"

Out of desperation that the evening would end in the emergency room, Olivia smiled seductively at her partner. "And a very attractive woman, I might add."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a long time before he finally stepped back and settled into his seat. When his eyes fell on Kathy, who still had not noticed him, he seemed nervous, unsure, but when he turned back to Olivia, he offered her a determined nod. "Although my date does appear to be rather undressed for this place."

It took another glass of wine before he started to relax and Olivia knew she wasn't about to. Because Elliot was clearly trying as hard as he could to listen to her, which meant there wasn't much leeway. Olivia had no idea what was happening behind her. She didn't like being unprepared in any situation, especially not one where her partner was liable to go crazy and attack at any moment.

The waiter returned to offer them dessert. Olivia quickly shook her head, knowing that getting Elliot away from there was the best course of action. But Elliot smiled and ordered something for both of them. As soon as they were alone again, he nodded in the direction of Kathy. "They're having dessert."

Olivia sighed, realizing that not only was their perfectly fun meal ruined, but also nearly every chance for a peaceful resolution to the evening. Elliot was no longer paying any attention to his partner. He was staring at his wife and her companion, fully planning on watching and waiting, expecting they'd hang themselves if he gave them just enough rope.

"I really think we should go." Her stomach was knotting up again and she sorely wished she hadn't eaten so much nor drank so much. The wine was still with her, keeping her warm and slightly dulled, although she could recognize that the adrenaline rush had left her partner as sober as ever.

His eyes left Kathy's back finally, fixing on Olivia's with the same deep-seated betrayed anger. "You saw her."

It wasn't a question and she wasn't prepared to lie, but Olivia found herself feigning confusion anyway. "Who?"

If it was possible, his eyes grew darker, clearly every bit as angry with her as with Kathy. "That's why you wanted to leave."

She didn't bother to dispute it. He always knew when she was lying anyway and it never served to do anything besides piss him off. "I still think we should leave."

She expected him to fire back, to start an argument with her because she was a safer target than the wife who might well already have one foot out the door on him. So his silence bothered her. As did the slack-jawed stare that was aimed over her shoulder once again. With a feeling of dread that she'd never felt before, Olivia turned slowly.

Standing at their table, Kathy and her date stood, locked in an embrace, topped off with a passionate kiss.

Not quite as shocked as the jilted husband, Olivia made it to her feet before Elliot, which gave her enough time to block his path as he sprang from his chair. She leaned in, knowing he was coming at her fast enough to hold her up. "Don't, Elliot."

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill both of them."

Olivia stood her ground, slowing him down with her weight. "Don't do this, not here, not in front of a bunch of witnesses she can use to take your shield from you."

His hands were on her upper arms, trying to move her. "Get the hell out of my way!"

In a last ditch attempt, knowing that it would not be difficult for Elliot to shove her out of his path, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, yanking hard enough that his eyes turned to her. "Killing them is not going to help anything." She was surprised that he simply stared back at her, perhaps crushed enough by his wife's actions to not know what to do without her input. "Please, El, think. Please!"

Even as their eyes remained locked, the hush of the room became apparent, a shocked squeak echoing throughout the restaurant. For a brief moment, Olivia saw the glimmer of moisture in his eyes and she wanted to save him the embarrassment of breaking down in front of so many people.

But having garnered the attention of Kathy and her friend, it quickly became clear that Elliot's thoughts weren't on saving face at all. No, his thoughts were clearly on revenge.

Unfortunately, Olivia didn't realize the change until his mouth pressed down over hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Of all the ways Olivia had anticipated the evening to end once she'd spotted Kathy sitting on that bar stool, she had to admit that not a single one of them included a harsh, oxygen-depriving lip lock with Elliot.

Another man, quite possibly, because there had been substantial quantities of wine involved, but Elliot had simply never occurred to her. Because it was absolutely impossible.

Although she was kind of curious as to exactly what it would be like to be swept off her feet by a man like her partner, she wasn't curious enough to let it happen. Unlike anything she'd ever imagined, his kiss wasn't enough to render her putty in his hands. Of course, it wasn't exactly the sort of situation where turning to putty would reflect well on her either.

And she strongly suspected that Elliot would have kissed anyone standing in front of him at that moment, which seriously undermined any romantic notions she might have otherwise harbored.

She shoved with all her strength, breaking his harsh grip on her arms, forcing his body away from hers. She wanted to yell at him, to demand he explain what he was doing, to insist that he beg for forgiveness right there with a hundred people as their audience. But she knew that was just her injured pride and she recognized that Elliot's pride was far more gravely hurt.

Her eyes were cold and hard as she held his, but there was no choice. If she showed him mercy, he would break, and she owed her partner to keep such a thing private. "We're leaving. Now." He was every bit as furious as she was, albeit for completely different reasons. Together they fished enough cash to cover their bill out of their pockets, sparing them the wait for their check and interminable credit card processing.

Knowing time was of the essence, she moved quickly, grabbing Elliot's wrist securely and pulling him away from the dining room. She ignored the voice that chased them as she hailed a cab and practically shoved her uncharacteristically pliant partner into it. As she climbed in beside him, Kathy was pushing through the door of the restaurant. And Olivia was unbelievably pissed off that the vixen had the audacity to look devastated.

Elliot was silent during the ride to her place and while Olivia knew that he probably needed to talk about it, she was glad for the quiet. She really didn't have the first damn clue what to say. Like anyone who fiercely guarded their emotions, under Elliot's rough exterior, she knew he was vulnerable, soft, defenseless. She knew that Kathy's betrayal had done considerable damage to him and she wanted to soothe it. But she didn't know how. When Elliot was wounded, Olivia was the last person he ever turned to, leaving her with no experience on how to help him.

So she opted for what she would have done had she been alone and in his position. After she coaxed him into her apartment, she sat him down in the living room. She placed a tumbler on the table in front of him, followed by the vodka.

Unsure if he was even hearing her, she called over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen. "I'll be right back with the oj."

But when she returned with the jug in her hand, Elliot was already pounding it back straight. She set the juice down in case he changed his mind and took a seat on the couch, near him, but not on top of him. She knew there was a very real chance he would lash out at some point, and she didn't want to be in the line of fire, even if it was inevitable that she would be the target.

Her initial plan had been to let him drink himself stupid, knowing that would help dull the pain a little bit. But waiting while shot after shot disappeared from the bottle without a hint of slowing down, Olivia felt like she had to step in before Elliot wound up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

She shifted toward him, placing a hand on the bottle when he reaching for it yet again. "Maybe you should slow down." She swallowed hard when his rage-filled eyes turned toward her. "I mean, you had at least a bottle of wine before and chugging all this, well, we both know that it's not going to end well." Olivia had spent the first half of her life cleaning up half-processed vodka from the carpet and she had no intention of doing so for her partner.

He yanked the bottle from her grasp, pouring it in and around the glass she'd given him. "Just fuck off, ok? Leave me alone." He tilted the glass back just shy of his lips, spilling the pungent liquid down his shirt. Rather than accept defeat, though, he simply leaned forward, pouring more vodka across her coffee table.

Her instinct to take care of him wouldn't be denied, especially not when she saw him in such bad shape. She pulled the tumbler from his hand, pushing it out of his reach. "Come on, El, you're going to ruin your suit and you need to wear it to work on Monday, unless you're planning on going home to change."

She knew she had him there, that it would be a long time before he was desperate enough to set foot in Queens for his belongings. Not that she could blame him. He had enough things collected in his locker at the precinct to keep him clothed for a while anyway. Still, she expected a fight, if for no other reason than his unspent anger, however, he didn't resist at all when she pulled at his jacket. He let her take it off him, offering no resistance at all. Encouraged by the unexpected cooperation, she kept going. She worked his tie free, then started on his shirt.

Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. There she was, having drank and flirted away the evening with an attractive man, who she had lured back to her apartment and was undressing. That it was Elliot only made her want to laugh.

But the situation brought a sobriety to her that she knew her partner was lacking. Especially when she remembered the way he'd tasted in that brief moment in the restaurant when he'd kissed her. Especially when she saw the heated stare he'd fixed on her.

She finished with the buttons, promising herself that she was going to grab his t-shirt quickly, throw what she could in the wash, and then lock herself in her bedroom until the man sobered up enough to know a bad idea when he was thinking it. He let her work his dress shirt free of his arms without complaint, although she did suspect he was just too intoxicated to stop her.

But his t-shirt was tucked into his pants and he didn't seem at all interested in helping her. With a sigh, she reminded herself that he wasn't trying to be a jerk. He was drunk and hurting.

And while her hands were working his shirt free from his pants, his somewhat uncoordinated hands were sifting through her hair.

She looked up, intending to ask him what he was doing, intending to tell him to stop, intending to point out that she was not about to be his angry, rebound sex. But his face was right there, the furious look gone from his eyes, his lips so close to hers. Any desire she had to stop him flew right out of her head as she looked into his eyes, recognizing the same glint of attraction and arousal and acceptance he'd had when they'd been eating, long before he'd seen Kathy.

By the time she realized he probably saw the very same things in her eyes, he'd already made contact. Unlike the first time, his mouth was soft and gentle, kissing her for desire instead of revenge. She hadn't expected it; she hadn't expected the thrill of it either. Her brain wasn't working like it normally did and so, her hands simply carried on with what they had been doing before her thought process stopped. Tugging his shirt up, rather than removing it as her original plan had been, however, her hands stopped fumbling with the fabric, opting instead to press her skin against his.

The tight muscles of his abdomen felt hot under his skin, burning her fingers as she caressed him. At the moment, she didn't care that he'd happily followed her example, easily working his fingers under her sweater, his hands, cold from spilled liquor, tickled her belly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She shifted closer, wanting more contact, melting into his heated kiss. His tongue pressed against her lips, begging for entrance that she was more than happy to give. Her arms worked their way around him, trying to touch him everywhere while holding him to her.

When his hands moved up to cup her breasts, her head fell back, her body overwhelmed at the exquisite sensation. His mouth accepted the redirection, his lips and tongue working against her throat as happily as they had against her mouth.

Perhaps it was the long denied attraction. Perhaps it was the embarrassing length of time she'd gone without intimacy. Perhaps it was the desperation she felt to erase the pain of the evening. Whatever it was, Olivia had never felt so excited, so impulsive, so eager.

She turned her face back to his, wanting to catch his lips again. But as she did so, the stench of vodka pouring off him, intensified by his body's heated reaction to her, shocked her. The hideous odor brought her back to reality, dredging up memories she tried to keep buried. So many nights her mother had stumbled in, already drunk, grabbed a bottle from a hidden stash, and then worked her way to oblivion while Olivia could only look on and hope Serena's hatred wouldn't turn outward.

Her mother had buried all of her pain in alcohol, allowing her to do things that Olivia sincerely believed the woman never would have done otherwise. And now her partner was doing the same, drowning his pain in vodka and physical sensation. Just as she'd tried with her mother, she wasn't going to let Elliot ruin himself nor did she relish the idea of being destroyed in the process.

She turned her head to the side, pulling her hands from under his shirt, wrapping them around his shoulders. Her face tucked over his shoulder as she pulled him into a tight hug. His hands relented, leaving her chest to wrap around her back. He didn't know what she was doing, but he appeared willing to follow her lead.

"El, this is a mistake." She felt him tense, as though he was rethinking letting her call the shots. "You need to go to bed."

He leaned back, loosening the hold he had around her, letting Olivia think he was giving in. But when he looked at her, she could only see the wicked grin. "That was the whole point." He moved in again, not even slightly deterred when she turned away, letting his open mouth fall on her neck. His hands resumed their assault on her senses, clumsily attempting to unhook her bra and remove her shirt at the same time.

She struggled, not from fear, but from worry. She was very attracted to him and she knew that there was always a chance she'd give in under the ministrations of his apparently extremely skilled hands. Pushing at his shoulders proved to be a mistake, as it only encouraged him to abandon the work on her bra in favor of slipping his hands back up to her chest. His mouth moved toward her lips again, and she was thankful for the scent that only reminded her of her mother in the most unflattering of ways.

"Elliot, stop!" She raised her voice, shoving at him at the same time. He immediately recoiled, a half-shocked, half-shamed look on his face. She pulled away, finding her way to her wobbly legs and putting half a room between them. "You need to get some sleep, El."

She took several deep breaths as she headed for the linen closet. Retrieving a blanket for him, as well as one of the pillows off her bed, she moved slowly, hoping he would be passed out by the time she returned. Gorgeous, drunk partners were much easier to deal with when they were unconscious.

She had no such luck, walking into the room to find Elliot still sitting up, though his face was buried in his hands. Dropping the blanket and pillow on one end of the couch, she grabbed the dress shirt she'd already finagled free of him. She felt particularly brave when she tugged on the back of his t-shirt, the one he was still wearing. "Come on, let me wash this."

He moved slowly, acquiescing to her command, handing the shirt to her without looking up. His voice was low, slurred, but still coherent enough to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." She waited for him to look up, but he'd planted his face back in his hands and didn't appear to have any intention of moving. "You had a rough night. Get some sleep."

He must have really felt bad for his behavior, she realized, because rather than denying that he felt pain or needed sleep, he leaned over to rest on the folded blanket. It took him a moment to realize his mistake, eventually pulling the blanket out from under him and putting his head on the pillow. As Olivia stretched the blanket out over him, he smiled up at her. "You're a good influence on me."

She stifled a laugh, wondering how her eager reaction to his touches equated to a good influence. "Good night."

He grabbed her hand, stilling her, forcing her to look at him. "If you hadn't been there, I would have torn that guy apart."

She shook her head, pulling back to pick up the contents of the coffee table. "If I hadn't been there, El, you wouldn't have been there either." Which, she knew, would have at least delayed the terrible pain he was in. No matter what their issues were with each other, she never wanted to see her partner hurting and she wished she hadn't been there to witness it.

"I'm glad I know." His voice was muffled by the pillow and she knew he'd be out in a minute. Maybe it was better that he'd found out the truth. And maybe, despite her wish otherwise, it was better that she'd been there when it happened, to prevent him from making a bad situation worse.

She dumped the vodka and the glass on the kitchen counter and stashed the juice in the fridge. Then with a heavy sigh, she shut off the lights, grabbed his shirts from the floor where she'd left them, and tossed them in to wash on her way to bed. They'd gone out for a meal and a chance to relax, only to wind up discovering something that kicked them both in the gut. And she knew, despite the exhaustion creeping through her bones, she wouldn't be getting any rest.

Morning came too quickly, the light dragging Olivia from her bed a few hours shy of enough sleep to make her feel human again. Elliot had been on her mind all night, worrying about the possible fallout from the run in with Kathy. And she dreaded what she knew would be the case – that she would take the brunt of his anger. Because she always did. Because, deep down, Elliot knew she would never leave him, which made her the perfect target.

On her way to the coffee which she hoped would breathe life into her, she tossed his shirts in the dryer and put extra towels in the bathroom in case he wanted a shower. Grabbing the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet, she headed for the kitchen. She started up the coffee maker, put some bread in to toast and left a bottle of water next to the aspirin.

A minute later, a low groan came from the living room, followed by the sound of uncoordinated shuffling and muffled cursing when he bumped into unfamiliar furniture. And then her rumpled, hungover partner appeared in the doorway.

She smiled, but she figured he didn't see it with the way he was squinting against the light. "Morning."

"Hmmph." He shielded his eyes with his hand as he peeled one open. "I smell coffee."

With a laugh, she nodded at the half brewed pot. "Why don't you try the water first?"

He grabbed the bottle she'd left and tossed back a couple of aspirin before he collapsed into a chair. "Jesus, what did I drink last night?"

A tremor of fear ran through her, terrified that he might have lost the whole evening into the haze of vodka. She couldn't find her voice, wondering how she would ever tell him.

He looked up, wincing at the light and ducking his head back down. "I remember the restaurant, but the rest-" The tone of his voice indicated that he remembered the bad parts and Olivia found herself wishing he didn't.

"You tried very hard to drink yourself to death, but I'm fairly certain the only casualty is your tie." She watched as he looked down, staring at his chest long enough that she knew he wasn't sure how he'd gotten half undressed. "Your shirts are in the dryer, give them a couple more minutes. And there are clean towels in the bathroom."

They lapsed into silence, worse off than they'd been the evening before because they'd added headaches and nausea to the mix. Olivia stared at the coffee maker, willing it to hurry up. If anything would help her, she knew caffeine was it.

But before she could pour herself a cup, Elliot was on his feet again, closing in behind her, his hands brushing across her back. She spun around to look at him, surprised by his proximity. "El-"

He looked nervous, sad, defeated. "Look, I'm only getting flashes of last night, but I-" He bit his lip and took a deep breath before he continued. "I was out of line. I'm sorry. It shouldn't have happened and I don't know what I was thinking." He shook his head, his eyes darting up to hers for a second at a time. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, feeling bad that he would even think that, yet knowing the holes in his memory might keep her reaction to him hidden. It wouldn't be nearly so embarrassing that way. "No, El, nothing happened. You were upset. You wanted to get back at her. But you didn't hurt me."

He nodded as she stepped back, inclining his head toward the closet where her dryer was running. "I'm going to check on my stuff." She heard the shower start up and she sat down to have her breakfast.

Not twenty minutes later, he was back, redressed except for the tie she saw sticking out of his pocket. "I should get going."

"You don't have to go." She wasn't sure what she was suggesting, but she knew he didn't have a home to run to. "You can stay here tonight if you want."

He tried to smile, but somehow it just looked uncomfortable. "I-uh- I'll think about it."

"Don't do anything stupid, ok?" She knew that he could well be planning on confronting his wife or possibly tracking down his replacement and beating the crap out of him.

He nodded, for once not pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. Glancing back over his shoulder as he pulled open the door, he smiled again, it no longer looking forced. "I'll probably see you tonight."

She smiled back and nodded. "You bring the movies, I'll make the popcorn."

With another smile, he disappeared, leaving Olivia to wonder just what the hell was going on.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

Part Three

Elliot was actually more of a stand-up guy than Olivia had ever given him credit for. She always knew his heart was in the right place, but she was the first to admit his temper usually got the better of him. So when faced with his wife's infidelity, Olivia fully expected Elliot to react with ire, well deserved as it might be, and to feel vindicated regarding all of his failings, since his devotion to his job was hardly a crime when compared with Kathy's betrayal.

She unhappily anticipated a sullen, grumpy, furious Elliot would be at her side for the foreseeable future, especially so during the brutal pre-divorce period while he was embarrassing both himself and his wife by revealing her adultery in open court. She wouldn't even have been surprised to face a sullen, grumpy, furious Elliot explaining how he'd decided to let it go and forgive Kathy out of an altruistic love for his children and a rather selfish inability to be alone.

So she was admittedly surprised a week later, when Elliot had shown up with more movies, to hear her partner's quiet confession that he'd talked to a lawyer and was filing for a No Fault Conversion divorce, the same type Kathy had hit him with several years earlier. Perplexed, she'd grilled him, only to discover the depth of the altruism inside of him. He'd told her that he didn't want to embarrass Kathy or to make his kids think they needed to choose sides. Instead of getting the faster, self-centered divorce by accusing her of adultery, he was opting to spend a year of being legally separated once again and keeping the divorce as civil as he could until it was finalized.

And after six months of turning if over in her head, she still didn't quite get it. Because if someone had screwed her over like that, she would have taken them to task, doing everything in her power to mortify them. Because she was the type to rip the bandage off in one horribly painful moment and so would have wanted the damn papers signed and filed and out of her way. Because she wasn't sure she could imagine the type of love that would allow Elliot to continue protecting Kathy after what she'd done to him.

Their loose plan for movies and popcorn had slowly become a ritual for them, as much of a ritual as they could commit to with their jobs. As often as they could spare an evening, which usually only worked out to once every two weeks or so, they holed up in her living room, never his newly leased place, with the shades drawn and their phones turned off, blocking out anything besides the evening's entertainment and the occasional pizza guy. They'd started with comedies, something that would keep their minds off reality, and slowly worked their way into others, eventually settling on every cop movie ever made. Sitting in the dark until the wee hours, picking so many holes in them that they couldn't watch without laughing, no matter how serious the subject matter.

They rarely did much planning for the evenings, knowing that nights off were to be snagged when they were available. It had only taken a few times for Olivia to recognize a slightly upsetting effect of their time together – she infinitely preferred spending her time off with Elliot to dating. For her, dating was a chore, and more often than not, a boring, disappointing chore that never actually got completed. She was forever having to cancel plans, having to beg forgiveness from someone she barely knew because there were criminals to be apprehended, while Elliot was more than understanding when things came up, because he was usually stuck working right along side of her anyway.

Then there was the dress code. Dates always meant dressing up, spending hours finding something with just the right mix of sex appeal and modesty that would interest her date without making any promises. It usually involved hose and uncomfortable shoes and shirts that she had to be careful about moving in. Her nights sprawled on her couch while Elliot hogged her armchair, however, were utterly relaxed. The man had seen her dressed to the nines and in her finest hooker gear and rarely gave any indication whatsoever that he noticed what she wore. In fact, while her typical ensemble included jeans or sweats, she had actually worn her flannel pajamas on one occasion, although she had been suffering through the flu at the time. All that Elliot noticed that night had been her raging fever and missed half the movie while trying to tempt her with various cures from chicken soup to popsicles to some mystery drink that smelled like garlic and onions which only made her want to retch.

But ultimately, it was the anxious tension and uncertainty inherent in dating that made her nights with Elliot seem like godsend. First dates, second dates, last dates, no matter how much or how little time she'd spent with the man, she was forever dealing with expectations and disappointments. When she liked them, she was never sure where to draw the line at the end of the night for fear of scaring them off by attacking them or running them off by convincing them she was a prude. When she disliked them, she dreaded the inevitable scene at her door while she tried to escape a kiss or a hug or anything at all that might encourage them to call back. There was no touching with Elliot, or at least, nothing that wasn't chaste or accidental. There was no worry about the end of the night; it would simply arrive with one or both of them passed out in their seats. The following morning was always relaxed and calm, the previous evening's peace having soothed away some of their stress.

Every once in a while and with an increasing frequency, Olivia's thoughts drifted someplace they weren't supposed to. When it happened it was usually towards the end of the second movie, when she was already well on her way to sleep, when Elliot was so transfixed with the plot that he wouldn't notice her intense stare, when she had already dosed off enough to have no hope of catching up with the movie, when she was too tired to censor herself.

It was then that she marveled at the man in front of her. And six months to the day from that fateful night, Olivia found herself in one of those states. Rather than the chair, Elliot was sitting on the floor, using the coffee table as his tray as he picked at the last of the pizza which was several hours cold. With his attention divided between the flickering television and the pizza, Olivia felt sure he wouldn't notice the way her eyes lingered on him.

She'd noticed the slight shift in his personality since that night, at least in his personality as it related to her. In the past, he'd always locked her out, made her pry the smallest piece of information out of him, declared his life off limits, refused to let her in. She hated herself for thinking something good had come from his pain, but she couldn't deny it either. She'd been there, witnessed firsthand the event which uprooted his life, possibly even influenced the night in as positive way as could be. And she imagined it was because of her presence that night that Elliot had, for once, decided to make her privy to the changes in his personal life.

Opening up to her about the divorce seemed to set off a cascade of changes in him. Or, she sometimes entertained, it had been the unprecedented level of intimacy they'd reached that night. She thought she might have passed some sort of unplanned, trustworthiness test that night, by not only supporting him through the pain, but also by not letting him make things worse, either by beating up Kathy's boyfriend or by burying the hurt in mindless sex. She'd prevented him from doing both and so, perhaps, earned a higher ranking in his esteem. But she seriously doubted he consciously realized it, and she knew he definitely hadn't intended to test her. She'd simply been there that night, in front of him, easy, available, damn close to willing.

The problem was that she didn't know how to deal with the feelings that night had stirred up, especially not in light of how much more time she was spending in Elliot's presence. She was determined to be the friend he needed, supporting him, being there for him, listening on the rare occasion that he wanted to talk. Unfortunately, it meant she had to ignore her own issues, the desires she knew she couldn't mention, let alone satiate. It seemed unfair that she was constantly being taunted by his proximity, so close yet so unattainable.

More than once, her sleep had been interrupted by wonderful, terrifying dreams. Dreams that sometimes started by reliving that night, when he'd touched her, really touched her, for the first time. Sometimes they started differently, yet always in her living room. Despite her best attempts to squash her feelings, her unconscious did as it wanted, as she wanted, in all honesty. She craved his touch and, although her Superego reigned supreme during her waking hours, her Id took over at night, trying to give her what she couldn't admit to wanting. Just the thought of how his mouth seemed to fit against hers, of how his hands seemed to already know just where to go, of how easily his touch could have convinced her to abandon good sense, set her cheeks burning and her heart pounding. That was why she refused, or tried her damnedest to refuse, to think about it when she was around him, because he'd know immediately that she was turned on and she had no reason to embarrass herself or make things uncomfortable for them both.

But there was nothing she could do those nights as she was losing conscious touch with the world, when he was right there, so close she could smell him, when her mind replayed the way he'd held her and touched her and kissed her, when she could practically see the heat in his eyes, eyes she realized with a guilty start that were fixed on her.

"Liv?"

"Huh?" She wanted to feign sleepiness, but he'd seen her eyes open and she knew it wouldn't fly.

"It may not be the best movie in the world, but it has to beat staring at me." He said it with a smile, trying to make a joke out of the fact that he'd caught her.

And it took quite a bit of internal strength for her not to dispute the utter inaccuracy of his statement. Instead of mortifying them both, she waved her hand toward the screen, searching the air for the name of the star and finding nothing but eyes so intense she could have sworn she could see their vibrant gleam in the dark room. She tried to shake off the memory of when he'd been so much closer. "Well, you know, he's really not my type."

She expected him to run with it, ignore her stare, go back to being relaxed, make some crack about how he wasn't about to rent movies based on her favorite actors.

Instead, his eyes held hers, pinning her in place. "And I am?"

Had they been characters in one of the dozens of movies they'd watched, he would have known the answer and delivered the question in a deep, emotional charged whisper as he moved to kiss her. But they weren't. So his tone and his playful grin revealed exactly how preposterous he believed the concept to be.

Feeling rebuked, even though she knew he hadn't intended it, she forced a smile at him and turned her eyes back to the television. Some poor soul was in the midst of being shot a purely gratuitous number of times and Olivia sadly considered the idea that she was pretty sure she knew how it felt to have her insides shredded. That she might be attracted to him was such a far-fetched notion to Elliot as to be both surprising and hilarious crushed her. It was bad enough that she knew she couldn't have what she wanted, she didn't need to be a joke as well.

With her gaze firmly affixed to the movie, she expected he would go back to it as well. His joking comment hardly deserved an answer. But a moment later, she felt his hand brush across hers, a move that normally would have sent shivers of excitement through her. Right then, however, it served only to underscore how very much in the dark he was regarding her thoughts. She went to pull away, wanting him to take the hint that she wasn't interested in talking, hoping to send him a wildly incorrect idea that she didn't want to be touched either.

But his hand closed around hers, keeping her from recoiling. "Liv, what?"

She glanced at their hands, desperately fighting the desire to revel in the warmth. She denied the urge, like she usually did. "What what?"

He moved then, turning around, climbing to his knees, resting his elbows on the edge of the couch, encroaching on her personal space in such a way that he was liable to wind up with Olivia cluing him in on why that was a bad idea, a demonstration which she fully intended to be physical rather than verbal. His hand remained closed around hers, insisting on keeping her grounded in the conversation, as though he thought there was a way she might escape it. "Something's going on, Liv. I want to know what."

Her eyes hesitated on him for a second before flicking back to the movie. She couldn't look at him, not when he was so close, not when she was feeling raw and exposed, not when she knew he wouldn't even give her the pleasure of being rude about rejecting her. No, if there was one thing she knew, it was that Elliot would be a total gentleman about refusing her, letting her down easy, promising her they'd always be friends.

The thought of the sweet way he'd try not to hurt her brought tears to her eyes, tears that Elliot, being so close to her, couldn't miss.

His hand moved to touch her chin, turning her back to look at him. "What's wrong?"

She'd been upset when he held her hand and, there she was, suddenly wishing he'd go back to that instead of letting his fingertips lightly press against her cheek. She shook her head slightly and shrugged as best she could while she was lying down. "It's nothing, El. I just need some sleep."

His eyes narrowed, a pained expression forming, like he was genuinely hurt by her lack of explanation. He studied her for a while before he started to smile. "Sit up."

She glared at him. Just because he'd gotten in touch with his feelings and decided to share them with her didn't mean that she'd had that same revelation. She wanted to sit there and contemplate the heartbreak that was her life and take some sort of comfort in his company, even while his presence seemed to torture her as well. "Why?"

He stood up, keeping her hand closed in his. "Just sit up, ok?"

With her stupid and improper joy at the physical contact hidden behind a mask of comically fake suspicion, she groaned and shifted into a sitting position, letting her legs brush by his as they moved to the ground. Frowning up at him, she yanked on her hand, but hoped he wouldn't let go. "There, I'm up. Can I have my hand back now?"

He lifted her hand, leaving her completely confused for only a moment, as he turned around and planted himself beside her, keeping her hand in his as he lifted his arm around her shoulders. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and used his arm to pull her into his side. His other hand slid under her knees, lifting them, guiding them across his lap.

She offered no resistance to his repositioning. She couldn't spare the energy to fight him, not when she was busy trying to come up with legitimate reasons why he was going so far out of his way to touch her as well as trying to think of a single reason why she shouldn't jump him.

He did, finally, release her hand, but it was only long enough to press her head down onto his shoulder. Then he took hold of her again, lacing his fingers between hers.

For a brief moment, she was fairly certain she'd died and gone to heaven.

His voice was soft, soothing and gentle, as he tried to wheedle an answer from her. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

She didn't respond right away, instead trying to take everything in and lock it away for a lonely, sad night. She wanted to remember the warmth that radiated from him, the safety in his hold, the natural way it felt to have his hand entwined with hers, the gentle beating of his heart under her ear, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest that told her he was actually comfortable enough to fall asleep right where he was.

And for some reason, she felt secure enough to speak. "Anything? You mean that?"

She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, a low rumbling in his chest catching a laugh but for their positions she never would have noticed. "Yeah, anything."

She decided he'd taught her a new kind of bravery that night, facing the destruction of something he held so dear and not falling apart. He'd built something else instead, something new, something, she hoped, better. Taking in a deep breath, she decided that he'd passed the trustworthiness test too and figured she might as well confess. "I think I'm in love with you."

He sounded so relaxed and unconcerned when he spoke that she wondered if he'd actually heard her. "Why do you think I come over here all the time?"

The unexpected question distracted her and she actually found herself wondering. She'd always secretly thought it had to do with the fact that she only had that one shy mouse while he had, she was sure in the few times she'd seen his apartment, a much more sizable cockroach infestation. But it was hardly the time to mention his need for an exterminator. And she didn't want to repeat herself, on the off chance that he'd misheard her and interpreted her statement to be something much more acceptable than it had been.

"I really haven't got a clue, El."

She heard the laughter that time, but she didn't have a chance to call him on the cruelty of laughing at her because he'd released her hand once again, using all ten fingers to force her chin up to face him. He was smiling, his whole face transformed with a lightness, an energy that she'd never seen before.

"I love you, Olivia. I want to be around you. That's why I chase you home on the weekends after I've spent all week with you."

Her eyes widened, his confession so thoroughly unexpected that she couldn't think, let alone respond. But his mouth closed over hers in that moment, indicating that he didn't really want an answer.

At least, not in so many words.


End file.
